


Give and Take

by tobiyos



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Naegi Makoto, Character Study, Choking, Dacryphilia, Degradation, Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, Humiliation, M/M, Poor BDSM Practices, Possessive Behavior, Riding, Top Togami Byakuya, but through sex, its porn with feelings but not necessarily positive ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiyos/pseuds/tobiyos
Summary: This killing game hasn’t stripped Byakuya of his dignity, but it has taken his power, in all the small ways that never mattered more than as an extension to his right to own the world.But Makoto’s cute, slick, whorish mouth calls himsir,and Byakuya pulls his hair again, and the pieces of control slide home to their master.
Relationships: Naegi Makoto/Togami Byakuya
Comments: 10
Kudos: 143





	Give and Take

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my naegami bullshit
> 
> Hi, I'm bunny, and if you told 14 year old me that i'd be writing danganronpa fics, they would have kicked you in the kneecaps. Oh how far we fall

Byakuya likes to think, before Hope’s Peak, his life was some kind of peaceful.

Not _quiet—_ no, there’s nothing inherently peaceful about inactivity, or empty spaces, or too big rooms with too few people than it was built for. And maybe _peaceful_ is the wrong word for it as well, because that sounds rather pleasant, doesn’t it? Maybe he likes to think that life was mind-numbingly busy, and there was never enough time in the day to remember to be unhappy.

Because now Byakuya is unhappy, and he’s not sure he was ever happy in the first place, and he knows for certain that, in the end, it doesn’t really make much of a difference. Shouldn’t, doesn’t, won’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Life is not about being happy, or peaceful, or content. He knows that better than anyone.

“Byakuya,” Makoto says. “Byakuya.”

Makoto was probably happy. He probably would be, still, even trapped in a place like this. If they’d been locked up with no hope of escape, and all the food and facilities offered, but without the killing game, the treats of violence, would Makoto be able to survive just fine? Like a goldfish in a tank, making circles of the same glass walls and still managing only to see the plastic vegetation at the bottom of the bowl.

Today, Makoto’s tank is Byakuya’s room, annoyingly. He’s never quite sure why he lets Makoto inside when he comes to call, especially when his visits leave Byakuya a swinging pendulum that tips from _kick him out_ to _lock him away_. It seems like every time Makoto opens his mouth, the pendulum swings, and Byakuya falls closer and closer to frustration. And it also seems, Makoto is the only person to do this to him.

“What?” Byakuya snaps, turning away from the papers laid out on his desk. Makoto has _successfully_ gotten his attention—hurrah. Obviously, he’s not going to get any reading done with Makoto spread out on his bed, hanging upside down off of the edge like he’s _far_ too comfortable.

Makoto blinks, and rolls on his stomach, and Byakuya avoids the long lines of his eyelashes, his full and boyish face. He’s so innocent it’s _painful_ , and Byakuya wonders if perhaps killing Naegi would feel the same as strangling a stuffed rabbit. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already have,” Byakuya says evenly, reading the same sentence for perhaps the tenth time.

“Well, can I ask you something else?”

This is not a game Byakuya has the energy to play. “Spit it out, Naegi.”

Makoto takes a deep breath, like he’s summoning some kind of courage, and Byakuya’s heart gives something of a traitorous lurch. _Keep him_ , it says, _hold him close enough he’ll never slip away_.

“Don’t you think you should be nicer to Toko?”

The pendulum swings. _Kick him out_. “What?” Byakuya says evenly, crossing his ankle over his knee.

“Toko,” Makoto repeats, and Byakuya narrows his eyes in lieu of snapping _yes,_ he got that part, unlike _some_ people he’s not wholly incompetent. “She really seems to like you. A-and I don’t think it’s very fair that you never even treat her like a… like a person. Don’t you think—”

Byakuya snaps his book shut with a sigh. “I don’t know where you get off assuming you’re familiar with people’s interpersonal relationships, _Naegi_ , but I would prefer if you’d refrain from speculating on _mine_.” He feels his eye twitch in a way that he hopes is imperceptible, as the rest of his body stays near frustratingly calm. “Toko does not _like_ me, she has deluded herself into thinking I’m fit to play into her little power fantasy _without_ my consent. And were I you, I might seriously reconsider calling my unwilling participation in enabling Toko’s perversions anything other than an attempt to maintain my personal boundaries.” He can’t keep the sneer at bay now, as he turns back to his desk. “So, no. I don’t think I will be feeling any more gracious to any advances on her part.”

Makoto shifts around on the bed audibly, and Byakuya pretends to organize some papers to get the angry shake out from under his skin. Makoto’s little outbursts have a habit of grating on his nerves, clawing under his skin just where he doesn’t need them, and Byakuya feels off kilter as Makoto stares quietly at the side of his head.

“…I know you’re not into the whole master and slave thing, but—”

“And when,” Byakuya snaps, “did I say that?”

And somehow _that_ is what stuns Makoto into silence. Byakuya turns in his chair to find Makoto opening and closing his mouth like an idiot, clearly trying—and failing—to think of something worthy to say. Byakuya crosses his legs with a glare. “Spit it out.”

“So, you… do like it?”

There’s the start of a headache sitting behind Byakuya’s temples, a feeling that’s not uncommon in prolonged interactions with Makoto. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Naegi.”

Makoto shifts his weight slightly, going from looking entirely too comfortable to uncomfortable faster than Byakuya could have dreamed. If this is all that it took to rid him of Makoto’s incessant probing—

“So… you dislike Toko, but not because of her… um…”

“Sexual interests?” Byakuya supplies, lifting an eyebrow. “They certainly don’t help.”

“Right,” Makoto says quietly, glancing down at his hands.

“Why,” Byakuya asks, leaning back with crossed arms. “You seem awfully invested.”

Makoto’s breath catches for a moment, face flushing pink as he shifts again. “I, um—”

Makoto is flushing harder now, looking anywhere in the room but Byakuya directly. Byakuya could have assumed just from Makoto’s personality, looks, and demeanor that he would have been something of a blushing virgin, but even _this_ is a stretch. It does make the ugly and possessive thing in Byakuya’s chest cock it’s head though, like a beast whose prey has wounded a leg.

“Are you jealous, Naegi?” Byakuya says lowly, watching Makoto’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows, eyes still glued to Byakuya’s carpet. Byakuya feigns disinterest. “Do you wish you had the confidence to call me _master?_ ”

It’s like a switch has flipped, like all of the tension snaps to Makoto’s shoulders and turns his face scarlet. “I—I don’t—” he stammers, looking more lost than Byakuya has ever seen him. It leaves Byakuya feeling powerful, untouchable.

“Come here,” Byakuya says, beckoning Makoto forward with a finger.

“Byakuya—”

“I don’t recall asking you a question,” Byakuya says, tilting his head to the side. Makoto swallows, and Byakuya recrosses his legs. “Come here.”

Makoto stands from the bed without looking at him, shuffling closer slowly. “I know you probably meant—”

“Oh, now you know what I _meant_?” Byakuya laughs. “That’s cute. I thought I told you to stop trying to read me.”

“Y-you did, but—”

“Makoto,” Byakuya says firmly. “Get on your knees.”

“ _What?_ ”

Byakuya clicks his tongue and sits back with a glare. “I do think I’ve grown rather tired of trying to _explain_ things to you, seeing as the concepts are obviously too difficult for you to understand. You’re grasping at straws, Naegi, probabilities. You don’t _think_ about me—you listen to what I say, or you don’t listen to me at all.” He puts a hand at Makoto’s stomach and gives a _shove_ that has Makoto stumbling backwards. “Now get on your knees, and for once in your goddamn life, _listen_ to me.”

Makoto is beautifully wary as he sinks down to the floor, even as his limbs move awkwardly and without grace. Makoto is crass and inelegant in most things, and it stands that such ineptitude would even extend here, to the movements even he hasn’t orchestrated. Byakuya puts a hand out and Makoto shuffles closer, once again, without being told.

 _Good,_ Byakuya thinks, though he doesn’t let the approval show on his face. Not until Makoto is close enough to touch, until he’s resting his jaw on Byakuya’s palm.

“Naegi,” Byakuya intones, gripping him by the face to lift his chin gently, arching his neck long on his shoulders. It makes Makoto’s eyes flicker to Byakuya’s face, and he finds himself holding even tighter, drinking in the almost vacant look to Makoto’s eyes. “Tell me again why you believe I don’t like Toko.”

“B-because—”

“Wrong,” Byakuya spits, with a tug that pulls Makoto stumbling between Byakuya’s parted legs, his hands going out to support himself on Byakuya’s knees. “Whatever you say is wrong, didn’t we just talk about that? I didn’t _tell_ you why I liked Toko, and, therefore, you should have no answers to my question.” Byakuya follows the way Makoto’s tongue darts across his mouth to wet his lips wholly subconsciously, and when his eyes go back to Makoto’s he finds his grip going tighter.

“Now, why did _you_ think I don’t like Toko?”

“She made you uncomfortable,” Makoto rasps out, as Byakuya furthers the strain on his neck. “She tried to call you master.”

Byakuya leans closer, until his own shadow engulfs Makoto’s, the hazel of his eyes blotted out in the looming eclipse of Byakuya’s presence. “And you thought I disliked it because she was calling me that name in the first place, didn’t you?”

A nod from Makoto, and a smile paints Byakuya’s face as he leans impossibly closer. Makoto’s eyelashes flutter, and his breath fans against Byakuya’s mouth as his lips fall open beautifully. Makoto knows— _Byakuya_ knows—that if he were a bit closer… a breath away… “I’ll give you a reward, then, for your obedience,” he whispers, and Makoto makes a noise like he’s been wounded. “I don’t _care_ that Toko calls me master, I just don’t like that it’s _her_ doing it. Does that make sense to you now?”

“Yes,” Makoto mumbles, eyes still closed.

Byakuya knows that now is the time to let Makoto go. To release him and set him back into his tank, back into those little circles, if a bit dizzier for it. But Makoto’s skin is warm, and his lips are thin, and he blushes like a dream when Byakuya just barely strokes the side of his face with the pad of his thumb.

Byakuya is swinging, swinging, swinging. The pendulum falls.

“Say it,” he whispers.

Makoto shivers underneath his hand. “ _Master._ ”

Byakuya thinks that, perhaps, his life was peaceful at a time, but the way Makoto shakes as Byakuya’s fingers curl may just be worth the upset.

“Give me your hand,” he says lowly, eyes open to watch the way Makoto’s slide open in confusion, obviously expecting some sort of reaction—a slap, a shout, a kiss. What he gets instead is a clear blue gaze, and Byakuya’s palm open in front of him.

“My… hand?” Makoto says apprehensively.

Byakuya does not repeat himself, instead reaching out to catch the uncertain hover of Makoto’s palm in the air, with a bare brush of their noses together. He does not smile, but keeps his eyes on Makoto’s as he guides his hand forward against Byakuya’s zipper.

“ _Byakuya_ ,” Makoto gasps, fingers pressing at the all too obvious length of Byakuya’s cock in his pants, and the touch sends powerful heat careening down Byakuya’s body.

“I never said I didn’t like it,” he says, and Makoto pants, softly, rising up on his knees to search desperately for Byakuya’s mouth.

“Naegi,” Byakuya chastises, pushing Makoto away by the jaw. He tips his head to the side with a brush of his lips to the corner of Makoto’s mouth, and hums at the seemingly uncontrollable desperate sound that pours from Makoto’s chest. “I didn’t say you could kiss me, did I?”

“No,” Makoto gasps, fingers twitching in Byakuya’s hold. He doesn’t try to pull away, but he isn’t moving closer either, not with Byakuya’s full control over his body. He feels heady and powerful in a way he’s been stripped of since he arrived, and even as Makoto squirms, Byakuya is too aroused to do much in the way of stopping it.

“No, sir,” Byakuya corrects, watching Makoto’s eyes slide hazily open again, meeting his. “Say it,” he hisses. “Did I say you could kiss me, Naegi?”

“No, sir,” Makoto breathes, and Byakuya rewards him by letting Makoto press his hand flat to his erection. His hands are trembling, and inexperienced, but Byakuya can tell that it’s barely concealed enthusiasm, in the way his rubs hesitantly against Byakuya’s cock.

“It seems like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Y-yeah,” Makoto breathes, dewy eyes blinking slowly. “I think… I think I like it.”

“Of _course_ you do,” Byakuya coos, tipping Makoto’s head back further. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t figured out your proper place,” he says, lips pressed against the side of Makoto’s face. “This is where you belong. Underneath those better than you. At my mercy, and my command, where every word you say must belong to me first.” Byakuya pulls him closer by the wrist. “You are property, Makoto. Made to be _owned._ ”

“ _Byakuya_ ,” Makoto says breathlessly, and Byakuya feels his composure slip, so he leans down and presses their mouths together _hard._ Makoto is unsurprising in the way he follows Byakuya’s own lead, sliding lips together and whimpering helplessly as Byakuya takes it slower, slower, slower. There’s a heat simmering underneath his skin that Byakuya wants to sear into Makoto, and the slow slide of his own tongue past Makoto’s all too pliant lips is the stoked winds of a furnace.

When Byakuya pulls away, Makoto pants through spit slick lips, gazing up in adoration at the owner of his very being. Byakuya spreads his legs with a smile.

“Come closer,” he says, and watches Makoto shuffle perfectly between his thighs, close enough that his nose is almost at Byakuya’s stomach. He’s still holding Makoto’s face, relishing in the almost empty way Makoto looks up at him. There’s no way to be outsmarted here, no appearances to put up. They are property and proprietor, a neck and a leash. Byakuya slips a thumb past Makoto’s mouth and smiles as his tongue touches the pad of it gently.

“Take it out,” Byakuya instructs, watching Makoto’s face shift as he processes the request.

It’s glorious, the way he turns scarlet in realization, unable to keep his eyes from darting down to Byakuya’s lap. “Your…?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself, Naegi,” Byakuya hums, and Makoto takes a shuddering breath, reaching forward with shaking, clumsy hands to slide down Byakuya zipper, and free his cock demurely. Makoto’s hands on Byakuya’s skin feel like heaven, and then temptation, and Byakuya schools his face expertly at the first hesitant press of Makoto’s hands to the warm base of his length. Then comes the shy glance upwards, the erotic way Makoto’s eyes shine and lower as he squirms.

“Naegi,” Byakuya says evenly, petting knuckles across Makoto’s cheekbones. “Ask if you can suck my cock.”

“Ask…?” Makoto says breathlessly, glancing down at Byakuya’s body. “Wait, I don’t—”

He gasps, when Byakuya slaps him, and then shivers as Byakuya grabs his face again, lifting him to look up, always up. “Did I ask for your _permission_?”

“N-no,” Makoto pants. “No, sir.”

“What did I say?”

“Ask,” Makoto says quietly, pulling his lip between his teeth.

Byakuya hums again, patience wearing thin. “I know you’re not _incompetent_ , but I would rather not repeat myself.” He leans down again, and presses his lips to Makoto’s temples with a scowl. “If you’d like, I can always let you go so you can crawl back to your room with your tail between your legs, your _pathetic_ little cock dripping in your underwear.” Makoto whimpers as Byakuya noses at his hairline faux sweetly. “Ask, Naegi.”

“C-can I,” Makoto breathes, eyes darting down to Byakuya’s erection. “Can I s-suck your cock, Byakuya?”

“Passable,” Byakuya says, and leans away with a jut of his chin. “Get to it.”

Makoto is hesitant, that much is clear, leaning forward slowly as he drags his hand dry down Byakuya’s cock. Makoto makes a short noise as the tip beads precum, and Byakuya sits back to watch his tongue meet his lips again, before Makoto’s mouth kisses the head of Byakuya’s cock experimentally.

“I thought I told you to _suck_ ,” Byakuya breathes, afraid of the way his own body runs hot at the clear inexperience of the way Makoto kisses at his cock, glancing up to make sure he’s doing it correctly. He’s _not_ , but Byakuya is too affected by the sight of Makoto on his knees, blushing high on his cheeks as his tongue presses gently to Byakuya’s shaft. “What’s this kitten shit?”

“Sorry,” Makoto breathes, his breath ghosting over the head of Byakuya’s cock. He apologizes so damn much it’s usually insufferable, but the shy way his eyes slide closed as he fits the head of Byakuya’s cock in his mouth makes it _ridiculously_ sexy.

“I’ve always wondered,” Byakuya says, fighting to keep the gasp out of his voice as he cups Makoto’s cheek. “You seem to try _so hard_ , but never really see the fruits of your achievements, do you?” he asks, humming when Makoto’s eyes flutter closed. “So mediocre, so _normal_ , yet you never seem to give up. Why is that?”

Makoto doesn’t look much like he can answer, sliding further down Byakuya’s cock as he’s urged. The heat of his mouth is searing, and Byakuya lets a sharp, heightened pang of pleasure crawl up his body when Makoto chokes slightly, and has to pull back.

“I know you’re compensating,” Byakuya manages, “but there are lines, don’t you think?” he slides fingers through Makoto’s too long bangs until they clear more of his face, more of his eyes. “Master and slave,” he whispers, and Makoto slurps obscenely as the heat of his mouth surrounds Byakuya again. “Annoying titles, but—more apt than the obvious equal and unequal.” He groans as Makoto starts to squirm. “I suppose it only goes to stand that you’d have ended up here someday. Isn’t it nice, not having to think, Naegi? With a cock down your throat, nobody _cares_ about what you’ve been uselessly wondering.”

Makoto makes a sound close to a whimper, and the feeling doesn’t go unnoticed on his cock. Byakuya fists his hands in Makoto’s hair _hard_ to pull him away with a wet, slick noise. Makoto’s lips are obscene—wet, pink, swollen. Byakuya wants them back on his cock where they _belong_.

“It’s a shame you’re so plain looking,” Byakuya mutters, pulling Makoto’s hair back until his face is bared. “What with the established boyish charm. Did you know the girls like to call you _cute_ behind your back? Hina thinks you’re _sweet._ ” A sneer curls Byakuya’s mouth; Makoto pants and bites his lip. “But they’d never fuck you, would they? Not the way I could.”

“No,” Makoto pants, and the admittance, however true it may be, makes Byakuya heady and electric, because like this, he holds something in his palm again. “Only you, sir.” This killing game hasn’t stripped Byakuya of his dignity, but it has taken his _power_ , in all the small ways he never really considered as more than an extension as his right to own his own world. But Makoto’s cute, slick, _whorish_ mouth calls him _sir_ , and Byakuya pulls his hair again, and the pieces of control slide home to their _master_.

“Tongue out, Naegi,” Byakuya coos, and Makoto does as asked without even questioning it this time, his throat working as saliva slides off of his lips and down towards his chin. “Messy,” is Byakuya’s empty reply as his finger presses over Makoto’s tongue. “You’re barely more than a dog, slobbering all over yourself. If I told you to come in your pants, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? You’d do anything I asked.” He pushes his thumb back far enough that Makoto gags. “Say it.”

“I’ll do anything you ask,” Makoto slurs around his finger.

“You don’t want to think, or speak, or do anything else than be my brainless little cock-warmer, right?”

Makoto’s hips shift on the carpet. “Yes, sir.”

Byakuya takes his finger out of Makoto’s mouth just so he can wrap a hand around his throat. “Good boy,” he says.

Makoto’s eyes fly open in surprise, his voice catching at the praise, at the gentle squeeze of his airway. Byakuya doesn’t dole out anything that can be considered complimentary often—he doesn’t _need_ to, few people earn it—but it’s worth the way Makoto burns red, and shivers like Byakuya has drawn his nails down his back.

“Suck,” he says again, and drags Makoto forward by the back of his neck to press his face to his cock. “You can’t use your brain, so use your mouth, or your hands, and do something for once with your sad little life.”

Makoto slides his lips around Byakuya’s cock with a moan, and presses down, down, down. He’s loud as his throat stretches around Byakuya’s cock, and each bit further down he gets makes them both messier with enthusiasm. Makoto is drooling down his cock and Byakuya is encouraging it with little pants, grunts, the gentle pressure of his hand on top of Makoto’s head.

Byakuya is a being of order, but Makoto is one of exception, and he fears he’s met his match when hazel eyes blink open and bead together beautiful clear tears.

“You’re worthless,” Byakuya breathes, thumbing over the wet spot left behind. His blood feels like lava in his veins, and he can feel the telltale buzz under his skin that means he’s much, much too close. Makoto’s eyelashes are dark and clumped together as he fights crying, and Byakuya wants to see him _sob_. “Worthless but for your idiotic fucking mouth. What do you think, Naegi?” he pants. “Would we get more use of you tied up and blindfolded for use as the ultimate see fit?”

Makoto chokes when he manages to slide Byakuya all the way down his throat, and Byakuya groans out an unintentional sound at the feeling of his throat spasming around his cock, the fat tears starting to roll over his cheeks. “Look at me,” he whispers, hand planted flat on Makoto’s head to keep him forced on his cock. “Naegi, _look at me._ ” Makoto looks up and Byakuya smiles. “I’d kill to see you cry.”

Makoto breaks away from his cock with a cough when Byakuya lets go, his voice wet and scratchy as he puts hands on Byakuya’s knees and pants onto the floor. Byakuya isn’t inherently possessive, just because he knows the value of loss. Anything discarded can be replaced, and usually for the better. Lost money can be gained money, relationships exchanged like currency. Byakuya does not own many things, but if he could, Naegi would be his.

“Stand up,” he says coolly, and leans back in his chair to watch Makoto rise from his seat, a hand coming up to brush aside the tears still lingering on his face. “Take your clothes off.”

“Byakuya—”

“Take your clothes off, Naegi, or I won’t fuck you.”

Makoto glances down at himself, and then up at Byakuya, the apprehension from before sweeping back in. Byakuya can see him weighing the pros and cons of laying himself bare, of being unadulterated in his nakedness. Byakuya knows he wants Makoto open, and vulnerable, and shaking at every finger Byakuya puts on him. He wants to lounge in his clothing and for Makoto to be unable to hide behind fabric, or tears, or pretty words and a _cute_ reputation. He wants Makoto’s heart on a platter, and he wants to decide whether or not he’ll be the one to tear it apart.

“This is a give and take,” Byakuya huffs, spreading his legs wider. “You give; I take. Clothes off.”

Makoto touches his fingers to the edge of his blazer like he’s unsure, but Byakuya pays it no mind, electing to watch and wait as the fabric falls from his shoulders to pool against the ground. There is no eroticism in his movements, no desire to exceed his expectations. Makoto does as he is told quickly and efficiently, from the unzipping of his horrendously ugly jacket to the unbuttoning of his pants, down to the measured way he unties and removes his shoes and socks.

“Turn,” Byakuya instructs, when Makoto is down to his underwear. Power and control. Give and take. Byakuya will see Makoto Naegi laid bare and he will scrutinize him as he sees fit, like a plaything for a god.

Makoto pivots and hooks his fingers in his underwear, and Byakuya stares at the shifting, undefined muscles in his back as he works simple black underwear down his thighs, until he can reach down and step out of them carefully. Makoto is flushed down his back and over his shoulder, and his ass is small and round. Byakuya could probably fit one cheek in his hand without incident.

“Is it easier not to be able to see me?” Byakuya asks, sounding bored.

“Yes. No. I-I’m not sure.”

“I didn’t know we were suddenly incapable of conversation. My mistake. I’ll dumb everything down for my little, dumb slut.” Tension coils in Makoto’s shoulders but he does not turn, or flinch, or do much but ball up his fists at his side as Byakuya stares impatiently. Byakuya wants him more than he’s ever wanted anything. Byakuya wants him more than _everything_.

“Let me see you.”

Makoto turns again, and Byakuya scans over his body from top to bottom, drinking in the pale skin, the fair hair, the shine of his eyes. Makoto’s shoulder are slight, his chest is flat, his stomach is soft on the sides and his hips are narrow. Byakuya could fuck supermodels, pop stars, celebrities and weight lifters. He could have anyone he desired, and at one time, he entertained the idea of spending his time in bed with as many people as he could get his hands on. But work is first, and Byakuya is nothing if not one to abide by his own rules.

But Makoto is a soft stomach and a flat chest and an unflattering shape, and Byakuya will throw every rule to the wind to beckons him forward with a finger, until his world is diluted to the boy standing between his legs, hands fisted at his side.

“What do you want?” Byakuya asks, trailing a finger up the underside of Makoto’s cock. It twitches against Makoto’s stomach, and it’s owner gasps, and Byakuya pulls away to stare at Makoto’s face.

“You said—”

Byakuya digs his fingers into the meat of Makoto’s hips with a growl. “Did I ask what I _said_ , Naegi, or did I ask what you _want_?”

Makoto swallows, and unfurls his hands, reaching down to grab hold of Byakuya’s. He presses them together, and then presses _forward_ , and Byakuya is still as Makoto climbs into his lap and guides his hand up his chest, and then again, just at the base of his throat. Byakuya gives an experimental squeeze that has Makoto moaning, as his hips give a small roll forward.

“Like this?” Byakuya asks lowly, leaning up enough to brush his mouth against Makoto’s jaw. “You want me to hold you by the throat when you bounce on my cock?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Makoto breathes, hips rolling again. It pushes their cocks together, too loosely to make any real friction. It still makes Makoto whimper and whine as his hips stutter, and Byakuya finds himself unable of much but meeting the trust back.

Byakuya digs a hand into Makoto’s backside and presses his mouth to Makoto’s neck over his hand. “You’re so predictable,” he breathes. “Tell me how badly you want it.”

“More than anything,” Makoto breathes, and Byakuya reaches for the bedside drawer holding the little bottle he’d found in the bathhouse he’d had no intention on using. Now, though, with Makoto red faced and panting in his lap, he’s glad he swiped it. “I c-can’t think,” he admits, and Byakuya laughs to himself, because he knows that‘s more true than Makoto imagine.

The lube gets drizzled down onto their cocks as Makoto squirms, as Byakuya puts his hands back on his hips and lifts him onto his knees. “You don’t know what this is doing to me, I, _fuck_ , I can’t feel anything other than your hands, I feel like I’m floating, I want you, I want _you_ —” he cuts himself off with a groan when Byakuya presses the tip of his cock to Makoto’s hole, and then he jerks and cries out when Byakuya pushes slightly. “Wait!” he gasps. “H-hurts, it’s… it’s too much, Byaku— _sir—”_

“Take what I give you,” Byakuya commands, even as he slows to rocking against Makoto, pressing fingers to his chest. “If you say you need me, then _take_ me, and don’t whine like a _bitch_ when I give you what you want.”

It’s a slow thing, grinding into Makoto’s hold as he tries to breach him for the first time. Makoto is shaking and panting, breath coming shorter and shorter as the head of Byakuya’s cock spreads his hole no doubt uncomfortably. When Makoto keens, Byakuya realizes his thighs are shaking where he’s holding himself up, the hands on Byakuya’s chest tightening and untightening as he sinks further down. Byakuya feels like he’s holding the universe in his palm. All the pieces, all the parts, they are in Makoto’s bared skin and sweaty hair and hazy eyes, they’re in Makoto’s hands on his waist and the cock in his ass.

“I’m the only person who’s ever done this to you,” he whispers to Makoto’s sweaty skin.

“ _Yes_ ,” Makoto sobs, arms wrapping around Byakuya’s neck.

Byakuya squeezes his hip again. “I’m the only person you’d ever want doing this to you.”

“It’s only you,” Makoto rasps, voice breaking off in a sob as Byakuya pulls him down further on his cock. He can see Makoto’s eyes squeezing tight as more tears start to gather in his eyelashes, no doubt uncomfortable being split open on Byakuya’s cock. He looks beautiful. He looks _owned_.

“That’s right,” Byakuya whispers, gut twisting as Makoto finally gets his ass pressed flush to Byakuya’s hips. “You’re mine.”

When Makoto’s hips twitch, he moans. When Byakuya grabs his hips and lifts him enough to be able to slam him down on his cock, Makoto cries. Byakuya digs fingers into his ass and feels Makoto clutch at the back of his hair as his hips roll, and drop, fucking himself on Byakuya’s cock with slow, firm movements, and Byakuya can’t help his own noises of pleasure as they echo back, because Makoto is _his_. Only his.

His cock twitches when Makoto cries out, because his brows furrow and his lips part, and Makoto bounces on his cock like he was maid for it as Byakuya desperately tries to keep his breathing even.

“Mine,” he pants out again, when Makoto’s legs start shaking again, and Byakuya is tasked with holding him by the hips as he fucks up into him. “You belong to me, you know that, don’t you? Nobody will ever touch you, look at you, think about you the way I will. I am the only being on this earth whose name should matter to you.”

“Yes, Byakuya, _yes_ ,” Makoto rambles, clutching at Byakuya’s head tighter.

“If I asked you, you’d do anything right, Naegi? Would you kill someone for me? Would you break every unimportant moral code you’ve built for hands on your skin and my cock in your ass?”

“ _Byakuya_ ,” Makoto pants, a non-answer.

Byakuya should care, Byakuya should snap at him and demand that he give up what his master is owed, but Makoto is tipping his head down and pressing their mouths together, and the salty taste of Makoto’s tears on his mouth make Byakuya’s eyes roll back as he fucks Makoto harder, grinding their hips together as Makoto hiccups his breath into Makoto’s mouth, drawling out slow chants of _Fuck, Byakuya, fuck, fuck, please_.

“Say I _own_ you,” Byakuya commands, pressing down on Makoto’s throat.

“ _You own me,_ ” Makoto gasps, and Byakuya cuts off his air supply with a flex of his hand. Makoto’s eyes slide open, but they’re bleary with tears and glazed over, and Byakuya kisses his slack mouth as he chases his orgasm in the pliant body of the only person Byakuya thinks he could never give up.

When he comes, it’s with a bite to Makoto’s shoulder and a release of his throat, a grind of his come as deep into Makoto as he thinks could be possible. Makoto gasps and coughs and tightens around him, and tips forward into Byakuya’s neck with a sob as he comes.

Byakuya holds light in his fingers in the form of Makoto Naegi, and he knows that whatever miracle put him there will never be enough to take him back.

Makoto belongs to him, body and soul, and Byakuya knows that the only life he would ever take is here in his arms, with hands wrapped around his throat. Byakuya is a drowning, dying star. Makoto is the end of the world.

“Say I own you,” he rasps into Makoto’s hair.

Byakuya is ashamed to say that a kiss is all it takes to demand no more answers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thaaanks for reading. This fic took me so long to fucking edit I just have a Lot of things to say about Byakuya. Definitly not gonna be my last fic with these two^^
> 
> (Oh, and come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tobi_yos) if you want!)


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